He spoke with all the elegance of a Cockney wanker.
“You fancy a go then, mate?” Mohawk asked, slapping the club into the palm of his hand. His shirt had no sleeves, revealing fully tattooed arms that hinted this Englishman thought he was a badass.
“How about I knock a few of those crooked-ass teeth out for you?”
To Brendan’s left, moans from his first victims echoed in the darkness beyond the reach of the overhead spotlight. A rustle came from behind him.
Fisher.
Brendan turned too late. Something punched him in the back of his legs with the force of a pissed off mule. He fell forward as the desk stopped sliding across the concrete floor. Fisher must’ve kicked it.
The other two men came at him with billy clubs swinging. Brendan fended the first few blows on his forearms as he fell back onto the floor. Each impact rocked his entire body. After four or five, his brain’s emergency systems kicked in. He tried to roll and weather the attacks long enough to get up, but a strike to the back of his head smashed his face into the concrete.
His arms splayed wide of their own accord and left him lying spread-eagle and helpless. The onslaught continued while he struggled to assume some semblance of the fetal position. His brain wandered off to a better place as he kicked futilely in the general directions of the attackers. After an absurd length of time, Fisher’s voice muttered something and the blows ceased.
Brendan propped himself up slowly onto his hands and knees. His left eye had swollen shut mostly, but out of his right he could see Fisher’s feet next to him, close to where Brendan’s blood was pooling after dripping off his face.
“I don’t give a shit wh at you think you’re doing here,” Fisher said.
The arrogance of the tone drove Brendan nuts, but he was in no position to do anything about it. This asshole had needed four other thugs to break Brendan down, and now he had the balls to talk down to him? Brendan vowed to kill this fuck if it was the last thing he did.
“Still don’t want to talk? Fine. If you’re a dealer or not, you should know that this is my fucking town, and you need to get the fuck out of it.”
Brenda n reached a hand up to the desk and weakly tried to pull himself up. Fisher, or one of his goons, swiped at Brendan’s arm, leaving him back on all fours.
“Out of respect for your brother, I’m not going to kill you,” Fisher explained. “But you better fucking get the message.”
Brendan’s face twitched away as Fisher’s boot shot into view, but it was too late. The message was received.
Chapter 14
Everything was dark. A steady beep emanated nearby. Brendan initially felt no desire to investigate. All he wanted to do was relax, and the warm sensation flowing from the base of his spine up to the top of his skull encouraged him to do just that.
His eyelids fluttered slightly, revealing that they’d been closed this whole time. Was there a reason to open them? The sergeant wouldn’t let him sleep if he wasn’t supposed to. He’d just wait for one of his barracks mates to wake him.
Something touched his hand.
Someone said his name.
He jerked his head towards the sound and immediately regretted it. Pain lanced up his back and through his neck, forcing him to cry out. He grit his teeth and opened his eyes to find his mother sitting at his bedside, drawing her hand back tentatively from his own.
“Where am I?” he asked. “What happened?”
He tried to sit up, but agony grappled his core in spasmodic waves. Michelle appeared to his left, gently ushering him back down onto the bed.
“Easy, Tenny,” she whispered soothingly. “Easy there.”
Her voice provided the required calming effect. Brendan stopped resisting and just lay back as she stroked his arm gently.
“You’re in the hospital, hun.”
That was from his mom.
“Yeah, I can see that now,” he murmured, feeling the
“You fancy a go then, mate?” Mohawk asked, slapping the club into the palm of his hand. His shirt had no sleeves, revealing fully tattooed arms that hinted this Englishman thought he was a badass.
“How about I knock a few of those crooked-ass teeth out for you?”
To Brendan’s left, moans from his first victims echoed in the darkness beyond the reach of the overhead spotlight. A rustle came from behind him.
Fisher.
Brendan turned too late. Something punched him in the back of his legs with the force of a pissed off mule. He fell forward as the desk stopped sliding across the concrete floor. Fisher must’ve kicked it.
The other two men came at him with billy clubs swinging. Brendan fended the first few blows on his forearms as he fell back onto the floor. Each impact rocked his entire body. After four or five, his brain’s emergency systems kicked in. He tried to roll and weather the attacks long enough to get up, but a strike to the back of his head smashed his face into the concrete.
His arms splayed wide of their own accord and left him lying spread-eagle and helpless. The onslaught continued while he struggled to assume some semblance of the fetal position. His brain wandered off to a better place as he kicked futilely in the general directions of the attackers. After an absurd length of time, Fisher’s voice muttered something and the blows ceased.
Brendan propped himself up slowly onto his hands and knees. His left eye had swollen shut mostly, but out of his right he could see Fisher’s feet next to him, close to where Brendan’s blood was pooling after dripping off his face.
“I don’t give a shit wh at you think you’re doing here,” Fisher said.
The arrogance of the tone drove Brendan nuts, but he was in no position to do anything about it. This asshole had needed four other thugs to break Brendan down, and now he had the balls to talk down to him? Brendan vowed to kill this fuck if it was the last thing he did.
“Still don’t want to talk? Fine. If you’re a dealer or not, you should know that this is my fucking town, and you need to get the fuck out of it.”
Brenda n reached a hand up to the desk and weakly tried to pull himself up. Fisher, or one of his goons, swiped at Brendan’s arm, leaving him back on all fours.
“Out of respect for your brother, I’m not going to kill you,” Fisher explained. “But you better fucking get the message.”
Brendan’s face twitched away as Fisher’s boot shot into view, but it was too late. The message was received.
Chapter 14
Everything was dark. A steady beep emanated nearby. Brendan initially felt no desire to investigate. All he wanted to do was relax, and the warm sensation flowing from the base of his spine up to the top of his skull encouraged him to do just that.
His eyelids fluttered slightly, revealing that they’d been closed this whole time. Was there a reason to open them? The sergeant wouldn’t let him sleep if he wasn’t supposed to. He’d just wait for one of his barracks mates to wake him.
Something touched his hand.
Someone said his name.
He jerked his head towards the sound and immediately regretted it. Pain lanced up his back and through his neck, forcing him to cry out. He grit his teeth and opened his eyes to find his mother sitting at his bedside, drawing her hand back tentatively from his own.
“Where am I?” he asked. “What happened?”
He tried to sit up, but agony grappled his core in spasmodic waves. Michelle appeared to his left, gently ushering him back down onto the bed.
“Easy, Tenny,” she whispered soothingly. “Easy there.”
Her voice provided the required calming effect. Brendan stopped resisting and just lay back as she stroked his arm gently.
“You’re in the hospital, hun.”
That was from his mom.
“Yeah, I can see that now,” he murmured, feeling the
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